ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

The lines are too long but I just couldn't get "The Lights on the Hill" out of my head. I entered this in the 'My town' song lyric competition last year, where there were some great words penned about some great little towns.

THE LURE

By Martin Pattie © 2011

My Grand-daddy’s Daddy crossed that saddle on Black Mountain
All them pack-track miles, way too many to be countin’
And the whistle of the water in the Little Annan River he could hear
And the Lions Den Pub . . back in 1882
From a perch at the bar with the mountain in view
And the glasses of beer made the dust in his throat disappear

All the bushies told their tales of the spirits of that mountain
‘mongst the coves and the scratchers there was very little doubtin’
That the callin’ of the curlew in the night time came too soon
And the old timber floors of the Lions Den rattled
As the timber cutters chewed through a hundred head o’ cattle
And a hundred weight of tin it was washed by the light of the moon

There was a mountain, and a pub
And a river through the scrub

And the curlew calling whispered screaming near

Now there’s four wheel drives that are corrugation countin’
As they bust off the black top as they’re drivin’ past the Mountain
With their headlights piercin’ through a blanket of Helenvale dust
And the same tin and timber is the Lions Den Pub
While the Annan still flows out the back through the scrub
Where the old tin mine has been smothered by the jungle and the rust

And the Black Mountain boulders - still a big pile o granite
But the tourists think it’s lookin’ like it’s from another planet
And the Murri man won’t even go near the mountain at all
Just a handful of K’s over Wallaby Creek
Through a rainforest maze under Finnegan’s Peak
Where the night time still hears the echoin’ curlew call

There’s still a mountain, and a pub
And a river through the scrub

And the curlew calling whispers screaming near

And then the Mountain gets blacker and the flyin’ ants swarm
As the sky closes in and the thunderheads form
And the rumbling river it roars from the mountains high
And still the stories from the bar fill them Mango Trees
While the Annan and The Mountain make you feel unease
And the curlew calls - they fill up the night time sky


And the scrub it comes alive with the stories told of tin
When the monsoon comes everybody’s rained in
And there aint no use for a modern day mobile phone
It’s a wild old ride on the Helenvale Track
When the Annan River rises there aint no goin’ back
Mother Nature as she does, always . . . she reclaims her own



Cos there’ll always be . . . a mountain, and a pub
And the Annan River through the scrub

But it’s rainin’ axe handles
And the curlew’s callin’ still

very interesesting I like it Marty P

Bill W

Good one Marty though I tried singing it to The Lights on the Hill and ????

liked this line - very much actually

Now there’s four wheel drives that are corrugation countin’
As they bust off the black top

didn't understand 'raining axe handles' though - please explain

Overall though a good yarn - makes you aware of the hidden threats on dark rainy nights in the scrub and those one way tracks that once you're committed to them you have to keep going.

Cheers

Maureen

Good to see you putting something on for us, Marty. I would like to hear it sung,( The Lights on the Hill is unknown to me ) maybe you can figure out the audio.

I hate to reveal my ignorance ...but I am uncertain of what town is being depicted, as your town, I assume Cooktown

Haha, Marty. You nailed it!!! Must have a lot of spare room in that head of yours if there was room for THAT to just popped in. Wanna record a duet???? Loved it!!!!

Nope, won't go there......

Morning Marty,

Why did you say the lines are too long? They look ok to me. I'll give you, they are not consistent in length, but you could tidy that up without too much effort. Have a go at adjusting it. Go on, you can do it if you want.
You know a sentence does not have to end neatly, at the end of a line of poetry.

Thanks Bill . . . glad you like, mate.

Maureen . . . I'm sorry you couldn't get the correlation (sp?) with Slim and Joy's number - give it another try maybe.
Anyway . . . you'll have to come and visit us in the tropics in The Wet under nothing but a sheet of tin and you'll understand the term "it's rainin' axe handles".

Neville . . . it's not really a town, but Helenvale is about 35 k's south of Cooktown and it's where I live and all that's here really is a river, The Annan, a mountain - Black Mountain and a Pub . . the Lion's Den.

And I'm glad you approve, Neil . . but being a singer/muso yourself - and answering Zondrae at the same time, about line length - you know that one must take a breath at some stage and long lines that run into each other. I dunno I reckon song lyricists do brevity a bit better than I do anyway.

Appreciate the feedback.

Cheeers, Marty

A train set perhaps Marty B

A train set perhaps Marty B

Hahahah love it. I can just see Marty fighting off his girls. I'M THE STATION MASTER!!!!!